It's weird that I don't actually remember the details of that day as strongly as perhaps I should. I have a vivid memory of the day before, as I'd been to see banger racing with one of my best friends.
I think the reason I remember it so well is that on the way home I told my friend that Helen and I were expecting, and of course he was over the moon for us.
The next day, the very next day, we had bad news.
I don't remember much after getting the phone call and leaving work, I don't remember getting lost in the hospital (I will not deny that it happened, such is my lot in life that I frequently get lost in heavily sign-posted places), I don't remember what I said to Helen and I don't remember what the doctors said to me. All I can really remember is the simple denial that this couldn't be happening to Helen and I. I just refused to believe it.
There was no finger-pointing of blame. I seem to recall one medical professional, be it doctor or nurse, saying that these things do happen a lot more often than we'd have thought, and even a mild cold or infection could be enough to cause a miscarriage.
I still didn't really believe it. We spent a few days together. Helen was very weak with the emotional and physical damage that had been done, and again I can't remember lots about what happened or what we talked about or even what we did. I just know that seemingly days later I was back in work, still shell shocked and still very much in denial that something like this could happen to us.
It seems trite, but bad things happen to good people. I try to be a good person but I know in my heart of hearts I'm just an okay person, but bad things happen to okay people as well as good things. I'd only just gotten round to the idea of being a dad and at once it was ripped from me, my fiancée was in a terrible place emotionally and I had to keep normality because that is how I cope (or keep myself from coping - that is a whole other story) and so I threw myself back into my two hour commute to and from work, and tried to give Helen a sturdy emotional platform to balance herself from.
All seemed well...
For about 12 days.
Baby conversations come up at work when you reach that certain age, and one arrived fully-formed right in front of my face.
"What would you call your first baby?"
I didn't burst out in tears or fly off in a rage, that's very much not who I am in any shade of mood. I did have to leave immediately though, and I spent 20 minutes sat on a toilet lid wondering why I hadn't properly cried or exorcized my feelings. I still don't know, but when I got home I broke down a little. We'd lost our baby and I finally felt it.
One of the thoughts that went round my head is - how sad should I be?
Looking at the facts and stats, Baby G wasn't thinking or feeling yet, we'd not had chance to really get invested in the pregnancy but we were so excited about it. Time doesn't really count here. I'm not saying it's the same as going full term, but it was about the most devasting news I'd ever had.
I wasn't even the main victim!
Helen took the brunt of this, and I could only imagine the thoughts going round her head. What right did I have to mope and feel sorry for myself? How dare I? Helen was suffering here, she needed me to be there, and I had to help first and foremost.
This point has come up time and time again. It is horrible for the guy here, but I know it's worse for the mother. It doesn't diminish your suffering to know this though, and I found that this thought weighed very heavy on my shoulders for a long time and there are a lot of conflicting things I've been told about it (ranging from "MTFU" to the expectation I would sit there sobbing), but I just tried to take it all on the chin and carry on. It was hard.
Helen wrote in her post about how she's dealt with it moving forward, and I think she's actually had a much more mature response to it than I have.
For those who aren't aware, Helen has a form of epilepsy that is almost manageable with medication, but not quite 100%. It means I'm generally on the alert when we're not together, especially if she's overly tired, stressed, hungry or on any other medication. Once or twice I've even had to leave work to take her home.
The amount of times her epilepsy has been a BIG serious issue I can count on one hand, but it's always there at the back of my mind. Since we lost Baby G and gained a Nutlet, the fear... no, that doesn't cover it, the terror I had of that happening again prevented me from fully getting around to pregnancy straight away, and until about four months down the line I was very wary of something going wrong.
Helen as well felt the concern. If we thought the baby wasn't kicking enough we'd go to the walk in. I'm not joking when I say we did this at least eight times during the course of the pregnancy before we bought ourselves a hand held heart beat monitor we could use to listen to Nutlet's heartbeat. That was a huge help for me.
Even at the point of birth, I was terrified. What if something went wrong? Could I go through this again? I couldn't stand to lose my wife and my child. Why is the baby taking so long to come out? Why are they needing to use forceps? Why isn't she crying?!
When she finally came out and started wailing, I actually broke down and wept. The feeling of joy I had goes beyond anything I've ever experienced: it was pure ecstasy, a moment of true joy.
I won't go into details of the next few months, but I will colour in around the edges.
I used to get up at night to make sure Nutlet was still breathing.
I still wake in the night in a blind panic that something has happened to her, have to check a video monitor and heart beat scanner to make sure she's okay.
I miss her in the daytime.
I don't want other people to hold her in case they drop or hurt her.
In general, I guard her like a wary dog, and have been incredibly reluctant to let her go away from Helen and I. I know it's silly, but the bleakness and depression that hit me when we lost baby G is always in the corner of my mind.
I would do anything to not feel that again.
Nutlet is a bonny lass, and I can often be overheard saying she looks like a goblin (she doesn't), or she's a trouble maker (she's not) or she stinks (she often does stink), but this is a way I show my affection for a little girl who is basically my whole world now.
I want her to be able to kick ass and make people laugh, like Amy Schumer crossed with Ronda Rousey. I want her to be smart and in control of her sexuality, like Marie Curie crossed with Beyoncé. I want her to be political and engaging, but also whimsical and fun, like Emmeline Pankhurst crossed with one of those kids you see running around with a bubble wand at a festival.
I hope she can be all of these things. I will help her become everything she wants. I would have done this for Baby G, but now Baby G stays in my memory and by my side, along with everyone else I've lost. It's not a big group, I hope it doesn't get much bigger.
You never really get over these things - you just find a way of keeping yourself busy, and hope that someone points out your crazy behaviour to you.